Sneering Kiwis are in no place to give us a lecture on identity
HE’S five feet and six inches tall, and he’s got the ‘cunning’ of a ‘rat’ according to one of his more esteemed teammates. Nah, we’re not talking about Steve Hansen. The All Blacks coach is a few inches taller, though just as mean mouthed and strangely paranoid when letting loose with his tongue. The man running about at our feet these next few months and trying to cause as much chaos as possible will be Eddie Jones.
He has already had a bite at Johnny Sexton.
And he’ll be up to a lot more mischief before England present themselves at Lansdowne Road on February 2 next and look to unseat us as Grand Slam champs, unceremoniously, in the opening game of the tournament.
Jones will be watching more closely than anyone else this evening.
He watched his team bend and ultimately blow it last Saturday against the All Blacks, and seven days later he is willing Ireland to fail as well.
The 2019 Grand Slam winners will be either Joe Schmidt’s team, with greater momentum and confidence at its back than any Irish team in history, or, it will be Jones’ motley crew and its two captains seeking to do the job of one outstanding leader of men. But if England beat us and reclaim the Six Nations title with a slam dunk of everyone else they’ll definitely believe that they are Europe’s best bet in the 2019 World Cup.
It’s vital that Ireland remain Europe’s No.1 – and in advance of our Grand Slam defence it will be a massive help if we can show ourselves this afternoon to be the best team the All Blacks find in this neck of the woods.
Of course, beating the World champions would be perfect. Shutting up both the All Blacks and Eddie Jones with one divine, thunderous performance?
Please.
BUT let’s shut up the All Blacks a few hours before they even arrive at Lansdowne Road. Starting with Ian Foster, one of Steve Hansen’s assistants who thought he was sitting at the front of a class of the smartest smart-asses on Planet Rugby earlier this week.
‘He looks like an Irishman now, doesn’t he?’ Foster intoned, ending a little commentary about Bundee Aki.
With everyone running amok in all sorts of strange jerseys on Planet Rugby for years – Tongans in Welsh shirts, Zimbabweans lining out for Australia, Afrikaners doing their damndest for Ireland and Scotland, and England bagging them from all spots in the Empire and beyond – it’s difficult to work out what the New Zealand assistant was at, apart from sticking a finger in one of his own eyes and stamping one foot with his spare.
The All Blacks were amongt the first to act like scoundrels in this whole business of swapping nationalities.
Roughly 30 years ago I was the only Irish journalist dispatched to spend a week on the tail of the All Blacks in Wales before they arrived over here. I watched them train one morning in Cardiff, and afterwards decided to approach the one New
Zealander who, funnily enough, looked like an Irishman.
John Gallagher was thinner than the others. He also had a shock of red hair. When I said hello he also didn’t speak like the rest of them.
I didn’t expect him to, because I knew that he was an Englishman and I knew he had Irish roots, with a mother from up north and a father born in Limerick.
I knew that Gallagher had been the first ‘Irishman and Englandman’ to get his hands on the William Webb Ellis Trophy when the All Blacks lifted the trophy first time of asking in Auckland two years earlier.
I’m guessing Ian Foster either does not know this or else has allowed it to slip his mind, but I knew way back then that when John Gallagher first slipped the famous black shirt over his shoulders he was panicky, to begin with, about one thing and one thing only.
It must have shown on his face, because Wayne Shelford, the All Blacks captain and a fiercely proud Maori shuffled over to him. ‘John, have you ever done the Haka?’ asked Shelford.
Gallagher shook his head.
‘Just move your mouth to the words,’ advised Shelford, ‘... and try and follow what I do!’
Out on the field, Gallagher went apeshit as best he could.
‘I ended up ahead of a Test match against France just miming along, and throwing my arms about,’ Gallagher has admitted. ‘Quite how I got away with it... I’m not sure to this day.’
That day, over three decades ago, the haka was sold down the Swanee. Evidently, a small enough price in the eyes of greater New Zealanders than Ian Foster and the man with his arm stuck up the back of Foster’s coaching suit, Steve Hansen. Oh, and one other thing. Bundee Aki seems to know the words of Ireland’s Call, and also
Amhrán na bhFiann for good measure. Watch his mouth move this evening before the game.
And, still before the game, watch the All Blacks enjoy their magnificent tribal dance that bit more carefully and understand that it was rendered absolutely meaningless a long time ago at their own hands.